“And here I thought it was the magnificence of my beard.”
She ignored me. “People like you because of how you make them feel. That’s why people don’t like me, or it’s one of the main reasons. I don’t know how to do that.”
“I could teach you how.”
Shelly examined me for the space of a heartbeat before saying, “I can practice on you. Let’s start now. Tell me about your father.”
I chuckled at her cleverness. “Wow. I’m impressed. Way to bring the conversation full circle.”
“Do you look like him?”
“You are relentless.”
“He’s still alive?”
“Yes. Unfortunately.” I took a bite of my hamburger; I couldn’t talk with a mouthful of food.
As she cut into her pancakes, she pummeled me with questions. “Is he here? In Green Valley? Do you speak to him? When is the last time you saw him? What makes you think he doesn’t like you? Why did—”
“Cool your engine, woman,” I said around the bite of food.
“Fine. Where is he?”
I eyed her over a sip of water and decided she was brave. Maybe the bravest person I knew. She’d answered every question I’d asked, even when the answers didn’t paint a pretty picture of her. She didn’t shy away from the ugly parts of her past, or her present.
The least I could do was return the favor.
“In prison,” I responded finally, setting my hamburger down. “For attempted kidnapping and assault.”
She didn’t even blink. “Who did he attempt to kidnap?”
“Ashley.”
“Ashley?”
“My sister.”
Her eyes grew impossibly wide. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
We traded stares for a moment, then she asked, “Is she okay?”
“Ashley?”
“Yes. Was she hurt?”
I hesitated for a moment, and then finally said, “No. He didn’t get a chance.” That time.
Shelly nodded, like this news was a relief and I hid my discomfort by taking a bite of my burger.
Darrell had hurt Ashley—and me, and my momma, and all my siblings—on more than one occasion. Despite Shelly’s bravery, this fact stuck in my throat and I couldn’t speak it. I wasn’t used to talking about my father, or what he’d done to us, and I recognized in that moment I wasn’t likely to share it willingly.
And I wasn’t ever going to be brave about it.
“What happened? Why’d he do it? How old was she?”
After I swallowed my bite of food, I answered her questions in reverse. “It was just last year, the day of our momma’s funeral. He did it ’cause he was hoping to leverage my sister for money. Our momma comes from an old family in these parts called the Olivers. That was her maiden name. She owned our family home, and he didn’t own a stick of it. The house used to be called The Oliver House. And, along with property, Momma had money. Not a whole lot, but enough that Darrell—that’s my daddy—had been plotting for years to get his hands on it. As for what happened . . .”
I moved my gaze beyond Shelly once more. It was now dark and I could see my reflection in the window. When I spoke next, I spoke to this reflection.
“He and two of his motorcycle brothers—my father is a captain in a local motorcycle club called the Iron Wraiths—jumped Ashley and Billy in the library parking lot, where the reception was. The rest of us were inside. It was just after the funeral at the cemetery and it felt like the entire town had come to say goodbye to my mother. Darrell took advantage, catching them unawares, knocking out Billy first. But my sister, she’s fierce. She got away, flagged down a sheriff’s deputy, and Darrell was caught.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. They were stuffing Billy into the back of a car, he was out cold.” I shivered a little at the memory, bringing my eyes back to Shelly’s.
She was watching me with an open expression, open and curious, like I was reading her a tale instead of relating a true story.
“Your brother Billy is okay?”
“He didn’t suffer any long-term damage from being knocked out, we were able to revive him immediately.”
“Good. That is good.” Shelly slanted her head to the side, studying me, and then her pancakes. “I’m glad your father doesn’t like you.”
“Pardon?” I’d been in the process of lifting my hamburger when she’d spoken. Now I held it suspended, halfway to my mouth, certain I’d misheard her.
She took a bite of pancake, chewed, swallowed a gulp of water, and repeated, “I’m glad your father doesn’t like you.”
“And why is that?”
“He sounds like a tool. If he liked you, I would think there’s something wrong with you.”
I gave her a sideways look. “That . . . sorta makes sense.” I tilted my head back and forth, considering and ultimately seeing her point. “He likes Ashley, but I think that’s because he thinks she’s weak, he thinks he can manipulate her like he did to our momma, because she’s a woman. And Ashley looks a lot like him. The rest of us, he could take or leave.”
“He thinks she’s weak because she’s a woman?” Shelly made a face, her nose scrunching, her brow furrowing. The level of expression looked foreign on her face. Even so, I liked her expressiveness. It felt rarely bestowed and consequently more valuable.
“Yes.”
“Tool.”
“Yes.” I chuckled, taking another bite of burger.
“My dad always told me how strong I was. Capable. He’s quiet, like Quinn, but when he speaks it’s always something worth hearing.”
“Like you?”
Shelly considered the question, taking an expansive breath before responding, “No. I’m not quiet, not in my natural state. When I’m at home, I talk to my dogs all day.”
“And Oliver?”
“Yes, Oliver too.”
“Just not humans?” I teased.
The side of her mouth threatened a grin again. That’s eight. “I talk to you, do I not?”
“Yes, you do. So why don’t you talk to other people?”
“I guess. . .” she paused, like she was giving the question real thought, “I don’t want to bother anyone.”
“You think you’re a bother?”
“I notice things. I can’t help it. And when I notice things, I say them. It can be bothersome.”
“What do you mean? Notice what?”
“Patterns.”
“Really?”
She nodded once.
“You’ve never said anything to me about it.”
“I think that’s because when I’m with you, I notice only you.” Again, she said these words thoughtfully, like she was working through a problem out loud.
So by the time she’d realized what she’d said, I was already wearing a giant smile meant just for her. “Is that so?”
Shelly pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes into slits. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s talk about all the things you notice about me.”
That made her laugh, which made me laugh. Her laugh also gave me the distinct sensation of being weightless and warm, unbound by time or worries.
In other words, she had a great laugh.
Movement in the window behind her—in the reflection—caught my attention, as did new voices. My smile slipped gradually as my eyes focused on the scene there, on the image of several huge, leather-clad bikers walking into the diner.
And the redheaded woman with them.
I winced. “Oh . . . shit.”
“What?”